


The Time Has Come

by ailhsa_23



Series: The Time Has Come [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-27
Updated: 2016-12-26
Packaged: 2018-09-12 13:55:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,484
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9074821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ailhsa_23/pseuds/ailhsa_23
Summary: Two years after the return of the Dark Lord, the world is at the brink of war. While the Chosen One struggles with his fatal task, a stranger appears at Hogwarts with a mysterious agenda - but will she fullfil it? As the doomsday clock is about to strike twelve, it seems that time is about to run out.





	

The sound of the wooden oars hitting the water was all that could be heard in the vast emptiness of the North Sea. The sound lulled the six passengers to sleep, a welcomed distraction from the bitter cold that surrounded them. At the bow stood a heavily cloaked man holding a staff. His beady eyes darted out from behind the safety of his hood, as if expecting the murky waters to unleash their darkest secrets. He never turned around, nor did he look at them. His job was to only to transport, what his passengers did during their two-hour journey from the mainland was their business.

Charon, the ferryman. Transporter of the poor, misguided souls along the rivers of the Underworld until they arrived at their destination. There was often weeping or panicked whispers, but not today. Today, there was silence. A thick mist crept upon them, shrouding their sight. They sat rigid on the wooden benches only moving when discomfort arose. Many of the day's passengers had been to the prison before, some of the select few to ever say they had. Visits to the fortress never granted room for boasting.

Among the Ministry officials and Aurors, sat a young woman at the stern. Like many of her companions, she remained silent as the boat drifted along, but unlike them, this was her first visit. The fortress was not like a regular prison. There were no such things as visiting hours, rather, a day was set aside for this once a month. 

It was very unusual to for her to be there. Her round face and wide brown eyes made it difficult to hide her innocence and inexperience from the other passengers at boarding. Children were not allowed to visit Azkaban. In their eyes, that is exactly what she was. A child. But at seventeen, she felt the need to disagree. There was no reason to appear apologetic for their comfort. Her reasons were her own. The sealed parchment hidden against her breast was her only excuse and this was for the eyes of the governor only.

She kept her eyes on the back of the boatman's cloak and tried her hardest to ignore the rocking of the boat. Her stomach gurgled with discomfort and the briny taste of the sea did not help much - neither did her refusal to take the anti-seasickness potion offered before leaving the mainland. 

Up ahead, the mist parted like the pages of a book. A small wooden dock materialised before them among the sharp and treacherous rocks of the island.

She stared up at the vastness of the structure in front of her. It grew up out of the rocks like a weed and continued to stretch up into the mist and disappear. The Azkaban Fortress had multiple levels with four towers at each corner. Each level held prisoners of similar transgressions - the worse the sin, the higher the level. 

Looking about her, she found she was the only one left on the boat. The other passengers were already standing on the docks trying to adjust themselves to their new surroundings. 

The boatman stood at the edge and held a gloved hand out to her. Fastening her scarf around her neck, she followed the other passengers under the stone archway. In its centre lay a carving of a shield - a mace and a wand crossed within a five-pointed star. The words "Horrificum, Potentiae, et Modestum" were engraved below it.

They assembled in a small antechamber littered with hard wooden benches. Ahead of them was a check - in station where the guard stood at a desk with iron bars rusted from the salty air. If someone were to get close enough, they might see the ripples emanating from it. One by one, the visitors queued up at the station and spoke with lowered voices into the slot. After rustling through a few papers, the guard shoved a well-worn badge with dull, grey letters through for them to pin on their robes in exchange for the visitor's wand. 

When it was her turn, the girl presented her letter to the guard and he took it without comment. He was a slight, middle-aged man with a sickly pallor, so much so that she could see tiny blue veins running in a non-specific manner across his face. She watched him until his dark, bushy eyebrows rose in attempt to meet his hairline. His brown eyes became levelled with hers.

"One moment, please." His voice was strained. 

He stepped away from the window and disappeared through a door she did not notice before. It took a few minutes for him to return and when he did, he was accompanied by an older man - stout with leathery-looking skin, and a thick, greying moustache. His navy blue robes were crisp as if brand-new, on his breast sat the same crest she saw on the archway. Above it were three gold stars. He must be the prison's governor. 

He peered through the bars at her in silence, then pointed a thick forefinger on the letter below him.

"You're sure about this, Miss?" 

She nodded. 

"And you are what relation?"

"I'm his god-daughter, sir." 

He considered this for a moment then gave a jerky nod of assent. "With a last name like yours, you never should have been allowed here. Especially not to see him."

He turned to his junior, folding the letter with the utmost care and handing it to him. "Make sure you send someone up there with her. This is no place for a girl."

With that, he stomped away. The guard at the desk sent her to sit with the assurance that they would fetch her when they were ready.

She found a bench close to the front and waited. The other visitors chatted amongst themselves about the most mundane things. She couldn't blame them, they needed to pass the time. 

On the wall next to the station was a stone tablet, darkened with age. She could barely make out the writing on it. Leaning forward, she squinted to read the words.

Azkaban Fortress, est. 1200 AD

Below it was the levels of the prison, each section given a runic letter. She scanned the list with interest. Division E housed the high security unit, that is where she believed she was headed. Above that were maximum security and Division J for the criminally insane. She swallowed and looked away. No wonder this room was so quiet - it was too far down to hear the screams. 

There was a rustling of robes behind her followed by rapid whispers. Beneath her curtain of brown hair, her ears pricked. The men behind her were officials within the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, she took note of where they sat when she followed the group inside. She tilted her head trying to pick up any news that hadn't yet made the papers. 

"Missing? Are you sure?"

"Not a sign of him anywhere," came the gruff reply. "The wife's in hysterics. Had to give her double the dose of calming draught."

"Good lord! Where do they think he'd gone off to?"

"Damned if they know. Mind, I think he did it on purpose."

His companion agreed. "Won't be much of a surprise - the poor sod - still wouldn't be enough to have the public feel sorry for him."

"I s'pose. 'Course, you have to admit, Fudge is a smart bastard, isn't he?"

The girl stiffened as her name was called, and rose from the bench with hands clasped together. Sorry as she was to be out of earshot, the sooner she was taken upstairs, the better. 

She followed another guard through a solid steel door and down a narrow corridor. He was a heavy-set man with a vast girth that spilled over the top of his trousers. The quiet that calmed her out in the make-shift lobby disappeared, in its place were low whispers. The Dementors left Azkaban months ago, but the damage they inflicted still remained in the fragile minds of these prisoners. As they neared the stairwell, the whispers grew louder - beckoning her to end their misery. 

The thin visitor's badge shook with each step and she resisted the urge to run in the opposite direction. The guard paused for breath at every landing, not that she could blame him - her leg muscles felt as if they were on fire. 

"How much longer?" she asked through deep breaths. 

The guard held one finger in the air not trusting himself to speak. It was only when they reached another landing that he paused again, pointing to the sign above their heads. 

In large rusting letters, a sign bearing the words 'HIGH SECURITY' creaked.

"Some rules before we enter," he began, looking back at her for the first time. He pulled a spotted handkerchief from his pocket and mopped his face.

"Stay in the middle until we get to the cell. Do not, under any circumstances talk to any of the prisoners. If they say anything to you, do not answer them." He peered into her face and waited.

"Okay."

"Good, now let's go."

He stood before another solid door and pressed a silver button on the right side of the door. A small camera emerged from the roof and hovered before his face which he kept still. Moments later, the camera ascended into the ceiling and the door clicked open. 

She followed him with haste down the corridor keeping her head down. Their voices rang out from the darkness of their cells things she wouldn't dare repeat. She could feel her face burn as their cackles echoed.

The guard came to a halt at a cell at the very end and rapped on the bars with his wand. 

"I'll be over there," he gestured to the space a mere five feet away. "You've got ten minutes."

The girl nodded and turned to look into the cell for signs of movement. The dim lighting from the corridor cast a slither of yellow on the grimy concrete floor. Squinting, she noticed a thin mattress in the corner covered with a threadbare sheet. There was a latreen on the adjacent wall without a seat with water seeping out from a thick pipe. 

"How do you like my new abode?" He materialised out of the darkness so fast, she staggered back, almost skidding on the floor.

As she saw his face for the first time in months, her hand slid up to clasp her throat. He had always been a pale man, but having not seen the sun for quite some time, his complexion took on a sickly pallor. Around his eyes looked bruised and sunken. In his thin robes, she could make out his ribs. 

She had yet to find her voice.

"Your mother sent you, I assume." In spite of his appearance, his voice held the same proud tenor it always had. 

She nodded. 

"And you've agreed."

"I start September 1st with everyone else."

He stroked the pale blond hairs that sprouted from his chin. "And the diary?"

"Already been placed."

He surveyed her through blank eyes and retreated into the darkness of his cell without another word. Frowning, she stepped forward only to be pulled back by the guard. 

She gestured helplessly to the cell. "I don't think we were finished."

At this, her escort cracked a smile. "You weren't, but he was."

 

\------

There was a loud crash as a young man stumbled out of an alleyway in central London. It was in the later hours of the evening, where hardly anyone was out. He leaned against a nearby wall with his chest heaving. Behind his round spectacles, he watched the street. 

Most of the lights had grown dim in the townhouses across from him. In his hand, he held a small silver lighter, which illuminated the day-old stubble across his chin. With a click, all the lights were snuffed out. 

In his mind, he formed a well rehearsed sentence and stepped out onto the road. He crossed without looking to either side and waited until the house he sought sprung up.

"We thought you weren't coming back." 

A breathless voice reached his ears as a small body collided with his. He blew a strand of bushy brown hair out of his mouth. 

"I was right behind you."

He dropped his bag on the floor and nudged the door shut with his foot. The foyer where they met him was poorly lit by the gas lamps in the corridor. 

"Yeah, at first, but then we thought you'd got caught." 

The young man stared at his two companions and tried to smile. "I'm fine."

"Of course you are. Come on, we've got something to show you."

He followed them upstairs, letting his bag drag behind him like a ragged doll. Part of him knew he shouldn't treat it this way - its contents were too valuable - but he couldn't help it. 

In the library, they stood in a circle to observe the growing decay of what was once a well-stocked collection of priceless tomes. They sat on the shelves in exactly the same order their previous masters had left them, but the room reeked of mildew. The roof leaked for over a decade with no one to tend to it. They had gotten rid of most of the furniture, but the books were too delicate to handle, even with magic. They were left to disintegrate with time. 

"There's nothing in here to salvage." he asked, turning to look at the girl with the bushy hair. 

"Hermione?" 

Her head shot up as her name was called. "No, I've tried. Even when Mrs. Weasley was here she tried. I wanted to write to Professor Flitwick to ask if he knew anything about repairing them."

He studied the books with interest, before speaking. "Where else can we get the books we need?"

"Hogwarts?" Hermione's voice grew higher in pitch.

Her face grew red under his scrutiny. "Why do you sound so eager about going back there?"

He had no good memories to drown out the horrors he'd faced there. 

His other companion spoke up for the first time since his arrival.

"She got a letter from McGonagall." he said quietly. 

"Saying what?"

He looked expectantly at both his friends.

"She offered me the Head Girl position."

"Oh."

Hermione never asked for much. She was always a willing participant from the moment they saved her from the troll one Halloween night, a few years ago. She'd been petrified, almost bitten by a werewolf and risked death. She was the brains and they'd be useless without her. 

He looked at her now, with her flaming cheeks and hands clasped in front of her - she'd been trying not to wring them - and he gripped them. 

She looked up at his face in surprise and flung her arms around his neck. 

Yes, he decided, she deserved this.

**Author's Note:**

> Currently rewriting this story after completing it in 2014. Also posted on the archives of HPFF and HPFT.


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